“I said I won’t tell anybody.”
Clayton looked down at the hot pink bunny in Mark’s grip. It looked so goofy and innocent all of the sudden, with its dumb googly eyes and buck teeth. It looked like it would hop to its doom with the same idiotic expression on its face, oblivious that things like death are supposed to be bad, and that things like fire are supposed to hurt. Part of him wanted to grab the bunny from Mark’s arms and run off, but he knew that would make him just as weird as Terry. No girls at his school would talk to him then.
“So,” Clayton asked. “Why Moony?”
“Moony’s already kind of bad,” Terry said.
“Bad how?”
“Dad threw him once, when he was mad.”
“Your dad was mad at Moony?”
“No, but Moony was there when Dad yelled to pick this crap up, and he threw Moony at me.”
“So, it’s Moony’s fault your room or whatever was messy?”
“A little bit, just because there’s too much stuff, and if Dad gets mad and throws something I know that’s what should get used.”
Clayton looked down at Moony again. Poor Moony, Clayton thought. He knew it was a ridiculous thing to think, but it’s not like he was talking to his classmates or friends or anything. Plus, he couldn’t really help it, he just all of the sudden felt sorry for the poor dumb stuffed bunny.
“So,” Clayton asked, “when do we begin executing these ghosts?”
“We have to wait until it gets dark,” Mark said, nodding.
“Mark, Aunt Sarah really lets you hang out here burning stuff until it gets dark?”
“Ummm,” Mark tried to evade. “Yeah.”
“So, if I told her we were all out in the woods setting fire to dollies and crap she’d be okay with it?”
Mark didn’t answer and Clayton put his hands on his hips and grinned.
“You’re not gonna tell her about the burning are you?” Mark whined. “You already swore you’d keep this a secret.”
“Just, you get to stay out this late?”
“She knows I’m with Terry.”
Clayton’s mom read him the riot act if he came home at sunset, so this was super unfair. Still, he’d promised. Even if these were just a couple of dorks, he knew he couldn’t go back on that.
“You’re not gonna tell are you?” Mark asked again.
“No, don’t worry geek, I won’t tell. But I think you owe me.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know yet, I’ll think of something later.” Clayton watched as that sank in. Mark’s face became unsettled.
“Already promised,” Mark mumbled, and Clayton grinned to himself.
“You did,” Terry said, looking Clayton in the eye all crazy. Clayton almost laughed out loud again. Jeez, pipe down, little demon-boy. “In fact you swore, you swore you wouldn’t.”
“Okay man.” If Clayton had to accompany these two freaks, he could at least push a couple of geek buttons. “Calm down, I already said I won’t tell.”
“Do you know what happens if you tell?” Terry asked.
“I go to hell, because I swore.”
“Yeah, but before that my brother will find you. When he does, you’re dead.”
Clayton didn’t know Bobby. He’d seen Bobby’s picture in the Ervin yearbook from a couple of years ago, though, and in a couple of random hallway photos. He was super-skinny, with greasy hair that stuck up in back and really uncool, wire-framed dad-type glasses that were too large and a little crooked on his face.
Bobby Jensen didn’t seem like too much of a threat, except he wore army jackets to school, read gun and weapon catalogues and carried, like, throwing stars and nun-chucks in his backpack. Plus there was whatever he got kicked out of school for. Besides, Clayton realized that telling anybody meant admitting he hung around with his little cousin, and his little cousin’s weird little friend with the psycho older brother.
“So,” Clayton asked. “Your brother brought other people down here?”
“Yeah, he’d bring some of his friends from the junior high.”
“Who’d he show this too?” Clayton was genuinely curious. It might be something he could talk about with older kids at Hickman, when he went.
“I usually wasn’t allowed to go when they went. I went with him and Steve Leery and Dave Murphy a couple of times.”
Ah, Clayton thought. That makes sense. Those two were known stoners, weirdos, there were rumors of animal torture.
“Steve and Dave both tried to get me to smoke, but I couldn’t stop coughing. He came here with Jessica Crenshaw a couple of times, but he made me go home once we got to the woods.”
So, Clayton thought. The plot thickens. This could be a good reason to strike up a conversation with Amanda, Jessica’s sister, who was in his English class. She had bobbed dark hair, wore dark eye make-up around her eyes like a raccoon and Cure t-shirts. Clayton had been looking for an excuse to talk to her. She was weird but she was cute, a lot of guys thought so.
It started getting a little darker and fireflies orbited the three boys and their ghost catcher.
I’m quitting here, for word count.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
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